


Selvage

by elwenyere



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Medieval, First Kiss, Getting Together, Historical Yearning, Idiots in Love, King Tony Stark, M/M, Mutual Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-13
Updated: 2021-02-13
Packaged: 2021-03-18 12:13:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,254
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29243385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elwenyere/pseuds/elwenyere
Summary: When a mysterious knight is wounded in battle while protecting King Anthony Stark, it's hard to tell who's more frustrated: the king, who has so far failed to discover any clues to the missing man's identity, or the king's personal attendant, Steven Rogers, who can't believe King Anthony took the field in the first place.
Relationships: Steve Rogers/Tony Stark
Comments: 14
Kudos: 100
Collections: POTS (18+) Stony Stocking 2020





	Selvage

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Orange_Coyote](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Orange_Coyote/gifts).
  * In response to a prompt by [Orange_Coyote](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Orange_Coyote/pseuds/Orange_Coyote) in the [stony_stocking_2020](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/stony_stocking_2020) collection. 



> This fic is a gift for spaceboundwitch (a.k.a. Orange_Coyote), to whose words, generosity, and skillful attention I owe more than I can possibly say. Thank you also to ralsbecket and Bella_Dahlia for the wonderful beta reads. All remaining infelicities and historical inaccuracies are my own. And finally thanks to *you* for reading!!! I hope that you enjoy spending time in this little world.
> 
> A fill for the short prompt, "knights in medieval times."

“Still no word on the knight’s identity or whereabouts, your majesty.”

The bearer of this bad news was Sir James Rhodes: Knight of the Arc, marshal of King Anthony’s court, and lifelong companion to his majesty’s more impatient moods. Indeed, King Anthony (or Tony, as Rhodes could still be persuaded to call him on private occasions) suspected it was the last of these three qualifications that had earned his childhood friend the dubious honor of making today’s report. With the possible exception of Tony’s personal attendant, Steven Rogers, who was currently arranging a stack of petitions on the table to Tony’s right, no other member of the court was more familiar with the sour temper that descended on the king every time a knight from his personal guard was wounded in battle. And the fact that this particular knight had received his injury while protecting Tony from a Hydra blade – and then vanished from the field before he could be identified – had only made matters worse. The memory of watching a stroke meant for him cleave through another man’s armor had stretched Tony’s nerves taut, like warp threads across a loom.

“According to Lord Banner, the markings on the knight’s shield don’t match any of the coats of arms on our muster rolls,” Rhodes continued. “I have Lady Romanov making inquiries among the newer arrivals at court and Sir Barton buying rounds of ale at the tavern, but so far, they’ve had no luck. If anyone in York knows the name of the knight who wears a silver star, they’re not telling.”

Tony made an effort to keep the disappointment off his face, but he couldn’t stop himself from rapping his knuckles irritably against the arm of his chair. The skin on his fingers was still raw from the now-unfamiliar work of wielding a sword – a few pale red lines marking the places where the edges of his gauntlets had pinched against his gloves. But the sting of oak against bone grounded him. It transposed the rattling sensation at the base of his skull into a rhythm of pain he could control.

“Now, if your majesty had been willing to avoid the battle as you were counseled,” Rhodes offered blandly, “perhaps I could be sending my two best spies to discover how Lord Pierce knew we were low on supplies and couldn’t survive a siege – rather than asking them to ply foot soldiers with pints or turn a mysterious stranger in cast-off armor into the subject of courtly flirtation.”

Steve cleared his throat just loudly enough for the sound to reach Tony’s ears, and Tony rolled his eyes, knowing Steve would somehow catch the gesture even though he couldn’t see Tony’s face. It was hardly the first time Steve had registered displeasure at the king’s decision to join the battle against Pierce’s rebel army. Not that he had voiced his opinion as openly as Rhodes had: ever since Steve had accepted the change of position from King Howard’s groom to King Anthony’s valet de chambres, he had refused to let a word of direct challenge pass his lips in Tony’s presence. But in the hours leading up to Tony’s departure for the field, Steve had used every nonverbal tactic at his disposal, from sighing significantly and deliberately catching his feet against the edges of the furniture to staring Tony directly in the eyes, his gaze so fierce with emotion that Tony felt his spine shiver like a struck lance.

“Nonsense,” Tony said evenly, pitching his reply to both Steve and Rhodes. “There was no question of staying behind and letting my marshal have all the glory again. Besides, I have it on good authority that seeing me ride out in my armor fills my subjects with very fine feelings.”

“Seeing that armor plunge off a horse and disappear into a hoard of Hydra soldiers has filled me with enough _fine feelings_ to last a lifetime of battle,” Rhodes said firmly. “It was a terrible risk.”

“I held my own,” Tony insisted.

“Of course you did,” Rhodes retorted. “I trained you.”

“Oh, please,” Tony grinned. “Before I was king, maybe – when we would sneak out of the castle and play at knights and dragons with Rogers and the other stable boys – then you were willing to put me through my paces. But both of you suddenly developed a strange compunction about throwing me on my back after I took the throne. So if I looked rusty out there on the field of battle, perhaps you should examine your own consciences.”

Tony glanced over his shoulder at Steve, who usually greeted references to their childhood of make-believe quests with a small smile and a shake of his head; but Tony’s grin faltered when he saw the strained expression on his attendant’s face. Steve’s jaw was set, his gaze fixed on the ground, and something about the way he had planted his feet – as if he were leaning just slightly toward the wall – immediately set Tony’s nerves on edge. 

“Keep up the search, Rhodey,” Tony continued finally, a frown forming as he watched Steve’s posture stiffen even further. “And ask Banner to make inquiries with the healers beyond the castle walls – see if they’ve dressed any wounded torsos for men who seemed shy of court.”

“Yes, your majesty,” Rhodes replied, clapping one fist to his chest and bowing at the waist.

Steve didn’t move from his position until the door closed behind the marshal, and when he did it was not to return Tony’s gaze but to busy himself with adjusting the folds of a nearby tapestry. It had once been a favorite of Queen Maria’s: a forest scene, with a somber woman in blue and gold bent over a harp. And as it had barely been touched since the day that she died, it seemed an unlikely item to require Steve’s immediate attention.

“You know,” Tony reflected, “if I were a less secure man, I might wonder if your sudden interest in wall hangings was an attempt to avoid my notice.”

“Your majesty is fortunate, then, to be so rich in confidence,” Steve replied mildly.

He turned finally to face Tony, his features smoothed into an expression that might have appeared neutral to a less interested observer. But Tony had first met Steve when he was reed-thin, pale as a sheet, and brawling with a soldier the size of a ballista. He knew the softened brow lines that meant Steve was at ease. And he knew the widened stance and angled arms that meant Steve was holding something at bay.

“Fortunate indeed,” Tony murmured to himself.

“The first meeting today is with a delegation of farmers from the south,” Steve announced, turning to retrieve a stack of ledgers from an oak cabinet in the corner of the room. “They are petitioning for relief from their taxes, which have just been raised by Lord Hammer.”

“The devil take Lord Hammer,” Tony grumbled, his eyes still lingering over the tense lines of Steve’s shoulders. “That a man so bereft of any higher faculties should be so blessed in material goods is a feature of the divine order that surpasses human understanding.”

“The Lord giveth, and the Lord taketh away,” Steve agreed, an almost imperceptible quirk appearing at the side of his mouth.

He had just lifted the ledgers from the cabinet shelf, when he suddenly let out a gasp, the books thumping to the floor as his hands flew to his left side. A horrible grimace passed over his face, and Tony felt a sensation like a poniard pierce through his chest. Steve caught himself a moment later, his arms dropping so quickly that the motion sent another wince across his features, but it wasn’t fast enough to stop the horrible idea coalescing in Tony’s mind.

“Steve,” he said dangerously.

“It’s nothing, my liege,” Steve replied, and there was a breathlessness in his voice that made him appear to shrink, for one sharp moment, into the wiry stable boy Tony had once found curled in the back of the hay loft, hiding an attack of ague that left him shivering with fever. “I must have hurt my shoulder – probably a sprain from carrying the lances yesterday –”

Steve broke off as Tony rose from his chair and walked toward him, one hand hovering in the air. Tony’s heart was galloping against his ribs, driven by a fear far worse than any he had felt while charging the Hydra ranks two days before, and he couldn’t pull his eyes away from the place where Steve’s hands had pressed instinctively to his side.

“I have never once commanded you to do anything against your will, Steve,” Tony said, keeping his voice even through extraordinary effort, “and I don’t want to now. But I need to see where you’re hurt.”

Steve’s jaw clenched, and for a moment it looked like he was going to refuse. Then he sighed, nodding slightly in resignation. Taking in a slow breath, he held his arms carefully away from his torso and allowed Tony to remove his belt and raise the hem of his tunic.

When Steve’s chest came into view, the first thing Tony saw was the angry red gash, which cut across Steve’s ribs in the same place where the knight with the silver star had had his chest plate split open by a Hydra blade.

Tony swore viciously.

“Damnit, Steve. I chose you as my attendant to keep you _out_ of the army. You’re not trained for combat – you didn’t even have the proper equipment. What were you thinking?”

“I’m not sorry,” Steve said, each word delivered with the force of someone digging out a fortification. “I know I broke the law by carrying a coat of arms and impersonating a nobleman, and I’ll happily accept the consequences. But I would do it again – I _will_ do it again if I get the chance.”

“Why?” Tony whispered hoarsely. His stomach was roiling as the battle replayed in his head – only this time when the unknown knight rushed between Tony and his attacker, it was Steve’s blue eyes behind the visor, and Steve’s broad chest curling over Tony’s body as the sword fell. Tony traced a finger along to the edges of the wound, and when Steve shivered, Tony felt the sensation reverberate up his arm as if he’d swung a hammer against hot iron.

Steve’s hands had touched him countless times: unlacing his boots, removing his cloak, tightening the straps of his armor. But Tony was suddenly aware that he had barely touched Steve since they were teenagers – not since the night before his coronation, when he’d run down to the stables with a satchel of pilfered dinner rolls to tell Steve to get two horses ready to ride. The old Steward, Jarvis, had been worried about Tony’s readiness for the ceremony so soon after his parents’ death, and Tony had made a show of retiring early to rest and prepare. He had related as much to Steve as they crouched behind the hay bales and Tony explained his plan. They could be well on their way to Wakanda or Asgard, he had promised, before anyone would notice they were gone.

Not once since that conversation had he sought Steve’s touch. Not since Steve had set his jaw and shaken his head and called Tony “your majesty” – or since Tony had shoved Steve’s shoulder and forced a laugh and told him it had been a joke, obviously, so lighten up Rogers. The last time he’d reached out to feel the warmth of Steve’s skin, it had been to push him away.

“Why would you do it?” Tony repeated, his eyes snapping up to search Steve’s.

“You know why,” Steve answered softly, and suddenly Tony did. Like a spur to the flank, the knowledge snapped into place and drove him forward, until his hands were cradling Steve’s jaw, and his lips were chasing Steve’s lips. Steve gasped at the contact, and for a moment his muscles tensed under Tony’s fingers. But then he melted forward, one hand pressed to the small of Tony’s back and the other brushing softly at the nape of his neck. When Tony tightened his grip, Steve relaxed into the hold, parting his lips with a soft sigh.

“So,” Tony breathed when they finally broke apart, “if I understand the story correctly: you cobbled together discarded armor, snuck into the ranks of my guard, and then threw yourself in front a sword rather than tell me you loved me.”

“Not quite,” Steve smiled. “I cobbled together discarded armor, snuck into the ranks of your guard, and then threw myself in front a sword _in order_ to tell you I loved you.”

“A bit dramatic,” Tony observed, letting one of his hands run across Steve’s jaw and down his chest to rest protectively near his injured side.

“Somehow I find that criticism loses its sting coming from you,” Steve replied. He hesitated briefly and then cautiously wrapped Tony’s hand in his. “I didn’t say anything because I’ve never had any expectations. You’re the king and I’m – well, I know who I am. But if you would let me, I swear: I would be whatever you need.”

“You've been what I need since the day we met,” Tony said, and as he wove their fingers together, he felt the warmth thread through his chest, tying off edges he hadn’t even realized were frayed. “But you’re going to need a better suit of armor.”


End file.
